The Wolf Side
by rokchichomesickg
Summary: The 10th Kingdom, as told entirely from Wolf's perspective. Installment #1


The sun was peeking through the bars of Snow White Memorial Prison, casting a dim glow in Wolf's cell. He wistfully stared at the sky and strained to feel a light breeze. Sunlight on the hills. The breeze blowing through the grass, soft beneath his feet. He filled his lungs with the cool, crisp air as he bounded towards the sheep on the horizon, the scent drawing him ever-nearer…A low whine escaped his throat. His imagination was carrying him away again. He wanted to bound in the fields, and. . . his stomach growled . . . and get something to eat. It was a good thing he hadn't been assigned a cell-mate. A wolf's got to eat, hasn't he?

He looked around toward the corridor. It wasn't like the Governor to neglect his schedule. That's how he'd kept such an impeccable record for the last twelve years. If you know where everyone is at all times, there's less chance of escape. Wolf knew this because he'd observed possible escape routes, and there was just no way to do it when the Governor always had you on trash or laundry or floor duty. There was little down time, except when wasting away in your cell. That's why it was so strange that the prisoners hadn't been called for lunch yet. They hadn't eaten since yesterday, and Wolf was starving, even more so than a normal man because he was half-wolf. His appetite was substantial, and he was the first to admit it. Wolf loved food. Today, it seemed, he wouldn't be getting any because lunch hour came and went and there wasn't even a sound or a sight from the guards. He could hear the other prisoners grumbling their discomfort, as well.

"Go on, let us out," yelled a man with a cockney accent, "we're hungry! Let us eat!"

Wolf's stomach growled again and his agitation was increasing every second. His only consolation was that if the other prisoners were to complain, at least it was about something important.

"Warder! I'm not eating mattress again, you hear?" yelled another man with a gruff voice.

Wolf was beginning to drool, thinking about little lambs frolicking in the fields, their soft, fluffy wool bouncing with every step, the shepherdess not far behind, her skirts flowing in the wind and her hair bobbing with ringlets, the golden sun catching the highlights. She smelled of lavender and sunlight. Oh, she would make a tasty meal. A low growl was beginning to rise in his throat. Where was the warder, and would those prisoners _please_ shut up so he could daydream in peace?

And then in a moment, his daydreams, the yells, and even his hunger was forgotten.  
He smelled something. Wolf moved to the widow in his cell door and inhaled deeply. This scent was different. It was clean. Everything in this cesspit smelled of sweat, dirt, and beanstalks. Not this. It smelled female, an alpha female. Everything about it radiated confidence and urgency; there was a hint of adrenaline. Another scent hit his nose, briefly obscuring the scent of the alpha female. Trolls. _Of course_, Wolf thought, wiggling his nose to be rid of the tickling scent of Troll dust. That explained what happened to the guards; they were likely napping due to a handful of Troll dust to the face.

Wolf's curiosity was certainly peaked. What was an alpha female doing with. . . another deep sniff. . . four trolls? Suddenly the female rounded the corner, void of the presence of trolls. Wolf guessed they only met briefly, as the scent was distinct, but faint. Wolf let out an audible gasp when he realized it was the Queen. More protests of "let us out!" and "give us the key!" echoed throughout the corridor. Wolf kept silent in the shadows. He did not want to invoke the Queen's wrath. He'd heard enough rumors of her magic to want to experience it firsthand. Suddenly, her gaze turned on him.

"You," she said with incredible authority in her voice, "What are you?" Wolf moved to the bars and put on his best innocent lamb face.

"Me? A very, very fine chap, falsely accused of–"

"Do not make me ask again," interrupted the Queen.

"I'm a. . ._shh_," he said, scratching his temple; the Queen moved closer, "half-wolf." He let his eyes flash green for a moment and gave her his best charming grin, which probably looked more wicked than charming at the moment. The Queen deliberated.

"I have turned Prince Wendell into a dog," she said – Wolf admitted it was a good idea –, "find him before the trolls." Wolf scoffed, muttering, "Trolls." They couldn't track to save their lives; trolls were incredibly stupid. The Queen turned the lock in his cell door and swung it open. Finally, he was free! He ran hurriedly down the corridor.

"Wait!" yelled the Queen. Wolf turned, a little agitated. He wanted to go on the hunt already.

"Give your will to me," she said, "be mine, to summon and control." With the way the Queen was looking at him, Wolf felt like a cub again. He hastily agreed and the Queen dismissed him with a nod of the head.

He ran down the corridor, thrilled to be on the hunt . . . and _free!_ He didn't even care that he'd just pledged his loyalty to the Evil Queen. Finally he caught the scent of dog and soon found him. So he was a retriever. _Good one, Your Majesty_, he thought, _Let's see how high and mighty he is now_. Wolf ran after him, but Prince Wendell was too quick; he ran into what seemed to be a cellar. _Hah, no way out now_. Triumphant, Wolf rounded the corner and came face-to-face with something shiny and shimmering. There was a girl riding a weird metal thing with two wheels.

"Huff-puff, what have we here," Wolf exclaimed to himself. The Prince looked over his shoulder at him with knowing, intelligent eyes, back at the shimmery thing – a magic mirror, Wolf expected – and leapt. Huff-puff! He almost had him! Wolf deliberated for a moment, looking over his shoulder. The Trolls were getting closer. They smelled strongly of leather. _Royals_, thought Wolf_. Great._ He wanted to avoid them so he too jumped through the magic mirror. The sensation was gripping. Wolf's skin pulled uncomfortably and it was very difficult to breathe. When it was over, Wolf took a deep breath and examined his surroundings.

"Wow," he exclaimed. He was in a strange place with strange sounds and strange smells. There were castles with many lights and many windows. And he was outside! He wanted to run and roll in the grass and – _No time_, he thought, forcing himself back to reality. _I must find the Prince._ He had been through here, he knew it. Wolf ran, trying to catch the scent again; there had been many dogs in this place so it was difficult to find the right one. When he was sure he had caught the Prince's scent he continued.

Wolf came upon a gap in the trees. There was a row of shops, one of which served meat! The sign said "Grill on the Green." He was salivating.

"Meat!" he growled. He approached the window like a kid to a candy shop. "Don't forget what you came here for. Find the Prince, _find_ the Prince," he chanted, then deliberated, "But huff-puff! A wolf's got to eat, hasn't he? I can't work on an empty stomach!"

He went inside the restaurant, barely aware that his clothes were dirty, tattered, and smelled of prison. He gave a great sniff and brightened. This was his lucky day!

"I smell _dog!_ Work and pleasure combined," he exclaimed, gesturing for emphasis. A woman by the window lowered her fork. His stomach growled and he almost took it from her. If she didn't want it, he would eat it! But he controlled himself and instead took a seat. He was, after all, half-man. He forced himself to show some dignity. He gave one more big sniff. There was another scent with the dog, stronger because it was close and probably came here often . . . a female, and boy did she smell tasty. . . like creamy vanilla and some kind of smoky flavor. Or maybe that was coming from the kitchen. It wasn't long before a blonde waitress chewing some kind of sweet – the scent told him it was sweet – came to his table to take his order. He shifted his attention to her. She smelled tasty, too, but not in the same way. He probably would've eaten anything at this point. He was aware of his drooling and licked his lips. Should he seek out the dog first? The Queen would be angry if he let him escape. . .

"So the specials are lamb–" she started in on her waitress monologue, but Wolf interrupted, gasping in delight.

"Lamb!" he groaned in pleasure at the thought. "New season's lamb, I hope. Young and juicy and frolicking provocatively in the fields, bouncing up and down with soft, fluffy wool–" Wolf shook himself back to reality. "Stop it," he scolded, "Pull yourself together!" The waitress was looking at him curiously, her head tilted to the side. She was still chewing the sweet. His animal nature was getting the better of him and he blurted,

"Some little shepherdess not paying attention to the flock. Probably asleep if I know little girls . . ." he looked up at the waitress. "Well, I'm not going to eat her!" he defended to no one. "Not if there's lamb fillet . . . or a nice, fat rack of chops. I'm not greedy!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table, forgetting his manners, which calmed him a little. "Well, I am greedy," he admitted, "I don't know why I just said that. I have a _substantial_ appetite. Born to gorge! That's me." He said that last bit with a dainty inflection on his words and a cavalier smile.

The waitress took no notice of his rant, or if she did she didn't let on that she thought him strange. Instead she said,

"So is that a yes on the lamb?" Wolf wished she would spit the sweet out. The open-mawed smacking was vulgar.

"Of course it's a yes, if the lamb is fresh. If it isn't, I want steak."

"It's fresh," she admitted, making a popping sound with the sweet.

"Then make sure it's undercooked," he told her. She frowned.

"We can't undercook anything. FDA rules," she told him. Wolf was getting agitated with this waitress and her vulgar sweet. He didn't know what an FDA was or why he needed their approval for how his lamb was cooked. He looked at her name tag. Candy. Appropriate.

"Candy, my dear," he said sweetly, "I want my lamb undercooked."

"I can do rare," she said. That wasn't good enough! His animal side was really starting to come out now.

"No, no. 'Rare' implies 'dangerously cooked.' When I say 'rare' I mean let it look at the oven in terror and then bring it out to me!" He resisted the urge to growl and licked his lips. "No fries," he continued, "no vegetables, just _meat!_ Red as a young girl's first blush. . . and . . .six glasses of warm milk." His eyes flashed from side to side, taking in the faces of the other restaurant patrons. _They_ certainly thought him strange.

"So that's the lamb special and six glasses of warm milk," said Candy, "I'll just go put that in for you." Wolf sighed. That would be much better than beanstalk mush. He shuddered at the thought. Then he remembered how he got out of prison and his mission.

"Oh, oh, oh!" he exclaimed. "I almost forgot. I'm looking for this lovely lady who found my doggy." Candy beamed and suddenly went in raptures about the dog.

"Oh, so it's yours!" she said in an endearing tone. "Virginia's out back. I'll go tell her."

She hurried away on her mission and Wolf followed. He could grab something from the kitchen on the way out. The strong scent of meat and dog hit him as he followed her though the kitchen and back toward a store room, at which point she noticed him. He could be very light-footed when he wanted to be.

"You can't be in here," she said. The scent of dog was strongest here, as was a female scent, the same one he smelled earlier. It was lovely. . . and very familiar. Curious. His stomach growled again. He noticed spilled flour on the floor. Luckily Candy's back was turned because he saw the word "Danger" scrawled sloppily in it. He rubbed out the message with his foot discreetly before Candy saw it.

"Maybe she went home. She hurt herself when she fell." She. Virginia. That's why the scent was strong here, she had an open wound. Wolf found himself wanting to bind it, but the thought was absurd so he quickly dismissed it.

"Poor little sausage!" Wolf said in his best bedside manner. "Where does she live then, so I can thank her?" He shut the door then, and Candy's eyes began to flirt.

"Well, I can't tell you where she lives. I don't know who you are," she said with a smile. Wolf leaned close. He was making her nervous, he could smell it. He backed her against the wall.

"Oh," he said, knowing he was intimidating her, "you _can _tell me." Candy was so flustered her voice began to tremble.

"Um, well–" she stuttered, "she lives in 2006 East eighty-first street." Her words came out in such a rush that Wolf had to concentrate to remember them. Candy looked so tasty, he could've eaten her then and there, but he decided not to draw attention to himself. The Trolls would be through the mirror by now and he didn't want them finding the Prince first. Wolf didn't want to displease the Queen. She was very dangerous. Wolf took a step back, freeing Candy from her cage. He heard an audible sigh, but he paid no attention and went back out the door. He stopped to grab a t-bone steak when the cooks weren't looking and headed out the back as quickly as possible. He could hear someone scolding Candy for being lazy as he left. He smiled to himself. He was hot on the trail, and Wendell wasn't getting away so easily. He ran, tearing off bits of the steak hungrily. Nothing wrong with a quick snack, right?


End file.
